


The Two Brothers

by TrenchCoat_Paradigm



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Canon Compliant, Captain Swan - Freeform, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Good versus Evil, Grimm Fairytales - Freeform, Implied Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Once upon a time season 3, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quote: Saving people hunting things (Supernatural), Storybrooke Meet The Winchesters, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Season7, Wanted Winchesters, Work In Progress, sheriff swan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27935197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchCoat_Paradigm/pseuds/TrenchCoat_Paradigm
Summary: This is the Grimm tale of two brothers.Born to a life of poverty and abandoned by their father, the brothers were adopted by a lonely huntsman and taught the craft of hunting. With a horde of companions at their side, the brothers set out for adventure. Never once realising that smiting the evil witch and rescuing the princess would be each other’s downfall.When Sam and Dean rolled into the quiet quaint little town of Storybrooke, they have no idea the tale of their lives was already written. But Saving people and Hunting things had always been their gig.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Red Riding Hood | Ruby/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Welcome to Storybrooke.

**Author's Note:**

> After spending the last few weeks binge-watching both shows I really wanted to do a cross over… And when I discovered the original Brothers Grimm Fairy tale “The two brothers”… well, it was practically fate. 
> 
> This fic is set in the cannon of both universes.  
> The Supernatural story arch is set during season 7. They have just lost Bobby; Sam is keeping Luci at bay (just about) and Castiel is still dead. BUT they do have the impala back… because nobody puts Baby in the corner!  
> The Once Upon a Time arch is based at the end of season 3 (but with no Frozen timeline). Marian has been saved by Hook and Emma. Causing Regina to go a little bit… evil. 
> 
> I honestly have no idea how often I'll update this little fic, but I have the whole story already mapped out, but in between my hectic work schedule and ... well... life. It's hard to find time for myself to actually sit down and write. 
> 
> I really hope you guys like it anyway, I had a lot of fun starting this :)

“Seriously?” Dean scoffed.

The Impala rumbled idly, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the empty road. Nothing around them other than a tall forest cloaked in the early nightfall and a gentle mist rolling around the chrome alloys.

“What other choice do we have. There’s nothing else for miles.” Papers shuffled beside him, the beam from Sam’s flashlight danced across the folded map pages. “In fact… This place isn’t even listed.” He said, his gaze lifting away from the wrinkled folds towards the highway sign welcoming them across the town line.

“Yeah but, come on Sam… Storybrooke?” Dean asked incredulously

“Hey, you were the one who didn’t want to spend another night sleeping in the car.”

“I just didn’t imagine staying in a place that Walt Disney might have puked on.”

His brother let out a dry chuckle, the mirth highlighted in his voice. “We can turn back to the main highway… we might come across a motel 6 or something.”

Dean grumbled. It took them 30 minutes to get here from the main highway. He wasn’t liking the idea of driving back another half hour and then continuing on for god knows how long until they reach some semblance of normality. He was beat, he just wanted some hot food and a warm bed for the night.

Putting the car in drive Dean pressed down on the gas. “I swear to god I better not get Stepford house wived,” he muttered. Casting a wary side-eye towards the town sign as the car rolled passed.

The streetlamps lit the empty road with a dull orange glow. Stores and boutiques either side of them were darkened on the inside, the premises shut up trading for the day. Ahead of them a large clock tower dictating the time. A little after 8 pm. The place felt like a deserted ghost town, the only shining beacon of light along the abandoned main street seemed to be the diner. Thankfully.

A few potted plants, tables and chairs lined the front of the building, the small courtyard out the front fenced in to give customers the option of outdoor dining. Strings of lights hung across the open space, setting a sensual cosy glow, and with the crawling ivy up the front of the building the place had a real whimsical fairy-tale feel about it. ‘Granny’s Diner,’ the large glowing neon sign above the establishment announced.

“Shall we go see if Granny’s in?” Dean mocked, parking the Impala in the empty space opposite.

Sam let out a light dry chuckle and slid out the car along with his brother. The cold bite of a Maine fall evening wrapped around his bare neck as Dean slammed the driver’s door, following his taller but younger sibling through the welcoming wooden archway and up the few steps towards the diner’s entrance.

Inside was exactly what you’d expect from a small town ‘mom & pops’ diner. Gentle pop music drifted over the place, just loud enough to make out over the hubbub of the other patrons inside. Soft overhead lights lit up a line of booths to their left, red faux leather seat coverings and metallic tables matching the rest of the furniture in the place. The right side of the small diner was a long bar, bottles of wine, a coffee machine and what looked like beer on tap decorated its front. Regimented bar stools fixed to the face of the bar. Spotting the only booth available towards the back of the place, nestled next to the jukebox and the restrooms Sam strode forward with purpose. Dean, however, followed cautiously, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he walked by the other tables. The place wasn’t busy, the bar seemed crowded, but no one appeared to have noticed them, most of the remaining tables that lined the centre of the room were empty. However, Dean got the sense they were being watched.

Sam slid in first, picking the closest bench, his back facing out towards the diner leaving Dean the birds-eye view. The perfect vantage point to see if anything was about to sneak up on them. “You ok?” Sam asked, noticing his brother’s unease.

“Somethin’ don’t feel right,” Dean murmured with a scowl. His golden emerald stare scanning every surface of the joint, as if expecting every eye in the place to dissolve into darkness, a Demon fuelled ambush while their defences were down.

Sam let out a loud snort of a laugh, smiling wildly at his older brother. “Seriously?!”

“You don’t feel it?”

“What’s the matter, Dean? Little bit _too_ small town for you?”

Dean’s jaw tightened “Just gives me the creeps is all.”

Sam laughed again but was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress. She was tall, brunette and downright gorgeous. Three things Dean always looked for in a woman. Bright red lips smiled at the pair, the same shade of colour as the tight tiny miniskirt she wore. Dean’s brow peaked as his gaze wandered down creamy calves and striking red stiletto heels. “Not seen you two around here before.” She said lightly, sliding two laminated menus across the table to the brothers. Dean managing to catch sight of the golden name tag pinned to her chest. Ruby. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. “You boys new in town?”

“Just passing through.” Sam smiled politely, accepting the menu from her and giving it the once over.

Her smile deepened as she looked over his brother. And, as per usual, Sam was completely oblivious to the hot waitress checking him out. If he wasn’t so weirded out by the place, Dean might have felt offended. Being the third wheel to his brother. Now that _was_ weird. “Is that your car out front?” She asked the question directly to Sam with a flutter of dark eyelashes. “It’s pretty.”

“Actually, it’s mine.” Dean returned, leaning forward to rest on his elbow and give her the old Winchester charm. “And thanks. Ruby. I look after her.”

Her gaze flicked to Deans. Striking silver eyes as bright as the moon considered him before her gorgeous grin dissolved, offering a small brisk smile. She adjusted her tiny apron and retrieved a pen and note pad from the pocket. “What can I get you both?”

Glancing down at the laminate only two things jumped out at him. A double bacon cheeseburger and cherry pie. He reeled off his order also adding two draft beers, before handing the laminated card back to her.

“Perfect.” She smiled warmly, accepting the menu. Her attention turning to his brother once again. “And for you, handsome?”

Dean quirked an eyebrow trying to suppress a smirk, his gaze finding his brothers. Taken aback by the compliment Sam blinked a few times, his mouth flapping open like a fish out of water. “ _-er-_ I’ll just get a salad.” He smiled shyly adverting his gaze almost immediately. “Thanks.”

“Coming up.” She said perkily and practically bounced away to the kitchen window hatch. Dean watched as she left, sliding their order through the hatch to the unseen chef, smiling broadly at there small conversation exchange. Turning his attention quickly back to his brother. Who, to his surprise, was also watching the hot waitress, his cheeks bright pink.

Dean snickered. Getting way more enjoyment out of his brothers’ embarrassment than he should have. “What is it with you and chicks called Ruby?”

Sam’s attention flicked sharply back to his brother, his shoulder-length hair practically flying across his face with the quick motion. Solid hazel eyes glared at him as his serious expression slowly morphed into a bashful smirk. “Shut up” he hushed, eyes diverting out the window beside them.

Their beers arrived in what must have been a world record time. Two tall clear frosty topped mugs with bubbling amber liquid. Ruby slid the brothers each a beer. “So, you know my name,” she said, clutching the small round tray close to her chest. “Am I allowed to know yours?” The question this time _was_ directed to Dean. He relaxed back into the booth looking up at an inquisitive half-smirk, her lips gathering slightly making them look much fuller. Offering her a tempting half-smile in return Dean obliged. “I’m Mark.” He lied. “This here’s my desperately lonely little brother Ethan.” He adds, his smile broadening as he tilts the glass towards him, meeting his brothers stare again. Sam’s lips packed into a solid straight line, at the same time his eyes widen to glare at his brother _Mark_ , the muscles in his jaw tightening and flexing. Bitch face mode, activate.

Even though they were technically dead, well, the fake Leviathan versions of Sam and Dean at least. They still couldn’t risk people knowing who they really were. It took Dean one hell of an argument with both Sam and Frank just to be able to get his car back. Fake names he could live with, but another night without baby… out of the question!

“Well… it's nice to meet you both. Your food won’t be long.” She smiled, adding a lasting linger on _Ethan_ before she turned and headed down the diner to tend to another table.

Chuckling dryly to himself he raised the glass to his lips for a sip, but a sharp kick to the shin made his whole-body judder. Beer sloshed over the rim of the glass, soaking his chin and pouring down onto his shirt, soaking him to the skin. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“Desperately lonely? Seriously?!”

“Was trying to help you out.” Resting the glass on the table he reached across to the napkin dispenser beside them.

“You're just upset she’s into me more than you.”

“Nah that’s not it. It’s this weird Twin Peaks town. The balance is all off.” Dean concluded, wiping down his chin and blotching at his shirt. “Cats and Dogs are best friends. You get snow in the middle of summer. And hot girls think you're attractive.”

Sam leaned back rolling his eyes. Muttering a deadpanned _“ha, ha.”_ Shifting his weight Sam fished his phone from his jacket pocket, sliding it open. “Maybe we should find out if they got a hotel or something here. Get yourself cleaned up.” He sniggered watching his older sibling pat himself dry with a dozen or so napkins. Dean’s hand hovered over his wet chest, pausing his blotching to glare up through his lashes. Balling up the napkins he dashed them across the table, hitting Sam square in the chest.

“Bitch.” He muttered, helping himself to more napkins. When Sam’s playful _‘Jerk’_ retort never echoed back, Dean’s eyes flitted to his brother. His brother was scowling deeply at his phone, “What? Can’t find a hotel?”

Sam blinked in disbelief as an unsure, nervous smile tweaked the corner of his lips. “I can’t find… anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“this- this town… I can’t find it.”

“What you talkin’ about. Gimmie.” Reaching over the table Dean snatched up the phone from Sam’s grasp. He scrolled down page after page of internet search listings. Links to storybooks on Amazon. Blogs about fairy tales. The best tourist traps in Maine. But not one of them mentioned this little town. “How the hell did we wind up in a town that doesn’t exist?”

“It’s us. You really have to ask that?” Sam sneered.

Dean cocked his head in agreement and nodded. That was true enough. But it did nothing to ease the eldest Winchester’s suspicion about the place, in fact, it was like someone had just doused that fire in gasoline.

Their meals arrived with little fanfare, the waitress sharing more flirtatious advances towards his younger brother. Making Deans eyes roll, but his awareness saw beyond the hot waitress, directed more towards the bar. A kid. Couldn’t have been older than 12 years maybe. His childlike curiosity fixed on the two brothers, or maybe even the waitress? Pretty sure Dean was the same age when he first started noticing girls. He gave nothing more than a small upward nod towards the kid, raised his glass in a friendly greeting. The kid instantly turned away, skulking into the sea of grownups that surrounded him. Hoping not to be noticed. 

With their meals devoured Ruby returned once more with his cherry pie, a coffee for Sam, and a small black wallet containing the bill. The fork broke into the crumbly pastry with ease, and Dean’s mouth salivated. Lifting the fork to his lips, his taste buds exploded with equal parts bitter and sweetness. Having to fight back from moaning in pure ecstasy, this was damn good pie. Not paying any notice to his brothers’ eye roll, he went to town on the thing, you never came between a man and his pie.

His otherworldly experience with his dessert was rudely interrupted by the arrival of another smaller visitor standing at the end of their table. The kid at the bar. He smiled politely at them both, his attention flicking between either brother. A mop of dark hair falling forward across his forehead. Green and red scarf wrapped around his neck just peeking out of his charcoal woollen coat.

“I don’t recognise you two. You guys don’t live here.” He said. Blue eyes were hidden behind a puzzled expression and slight head tilt forcefully reminded Dean of another smaller companion who asked stupidly attentive questions.

He shook it off, as he always did. “Observant kid,” he muttered to his brother, hoping Sam would handle this business. He just wanted to finish his pie.

“No, we don’t,” Sam said softly. The same kind of voice you would use on a frightened timid animal. “Were just passing through.”

“We don’t get many visitors.”

“It would help if this place was listed on a map,” Dean commented almost mockingly. Cheeks full of cherry pie and ignoring his brother sideways expression.

“Kid! What the hell.” A woman’s voice called from the other end of the diner. A head of blond hair falling to her shoulders and draping over a deep red leather jacket headed straight towards them. Her face stern but earnest. “I thought you grew out of this. Sorry, hope he wasn’t disturbing you.” She said wrapping a motherly arm around his shoulder and scooting him back from the table.

“No, it’s fine,” Sam said offering her a strong smile making the dimples in his cheeks pop. _‘I swear if he gets another one fawning over him… I’m gonna-‘_

“I don’t mean to pry,” She said, her attention also diverting between the pair, “but, you boys aren’t from here, are you?”

“We’re just passing through,” Sam repeated. His friendly smile wavering slightly

“And, you just happened to stumble across our little town?”

“What’s with the third degree?” Dean snipped. Wiping down his lips with a napkin, balling it up and throwing it onto his plate. His gaze gravitating towards mommy dearest. “Come free with every meal?”

Her lips twitched into a small smirk for a millisecond before releasing the kid. “Wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t making sure everything was in order.” Taking the lapel of her jacket she pulled the left side open, a golden county sheriffs badge pinned to the waistband of her black denim jeans. “Sheriff Swan.” She greeted, her stoic gaze never leaving Dean’s eye line. _‘Crap.’_

“Ethan.” His brother intervened, trying his best to take the heat off the situation like he always did. Extending his hand towards the sheriff they shook in greeting. “Don’t mind my brother Sheriff. It’s been a long trip. Mark gets a little cranky when he’s tired.” Sam said flashing him a ‘for-the-love-of-god-keep-your-mouth-shut’ look. “Speaking of, is there a hotel in this town?”

The Sheriff's attention darkened slightly. Her brow crinkling as she studied Sam. “Talk to Granny.” She said nodding towards the bar. “She runs the Bed and Breakfast.” She said slowly, almost deliberately. If Dean didn’t know any better, he would say she was trying to suss them out. “You boys planning on staying long?”

“Why? You trying to get rid of us?” Dean quipped. That cocky half-smirk creasing his lips as he considered the Sheriff, desperately ignoring the burning scowl being drilled into the side of his melon from his brother.

She raised an eyebrow as her focus flitted to him. Feeling the frostiness of her stare from the other end of the table. “I don’t know. Should I be?”

“The B&B sounds great.” Sam butted in, coming to the rescue once again. “Thanks.”

“Your welcome. Jus’ stay out of trouble. Come on Henry.” Wrapping her arm around the boys’ shoulder, she guided him away from the table and towards the front of the diner.

“Can you not piss off the Sheriff? Low profile, remember.” Sam hissed, making sure the Sheriff was well out of earshot. “Come on. The quicker we can get a room and a night’s sleep. The quicker we can leave.” Sam said sliding out the booth and scooping up the cheque.

…::::::…::::::…::::::…

 _“Pay no heed to them, love.”_ But how could she pay _‘no heed’_ to them? Strangers never just turned up out of the blue in Storybrooke. Not without disaster following.

She was practically up at the crack of dawn, offering to do Neal’s 6 am feed so her zombie shuffling mother could get some more sleep. But really, she had been awake long before her own baby brother started screaming the place down. Her thoughts fixated on those two brothers, Mark and Ethan, was it? Or whatever the fake names they came up with. Emma knew to trust her gut, and her gut was telling her these boys were bad news.

She opened her phone. Retrieving the note she had left herself last night and hoping that her bounty hunting skills hadn’t gotten rusty. She had seen the foresight to make a note of their licence plate, Ruby confirming that the hunk of black and chrome outside Granny’s was indeed theirs. Pretty distinct looking car, not something one would forget in a hurry. After a few phone calls, she was granted access to the licencing recognition database. The old PC monitor in front of her booted up slowly, finally being greeted with the opening page of the program, a small pulsating text box instructing her to type in the number of the registered vehicle. CNK 80Q3. Enter. A very dated loading diagram flashed on the screen. Two icons front and centre, to the left a typical animated computer-style folder, the right icon represented the ‘world wide web’ in the shape of a globe, and a green loading bar rhythmically bouncing between the two icons. If she remembered rightly, this might take a while.

She leaned back on her chair, the old piece of furniture making a troubling groan as it garnered its new position while casting an absentminded gaze out of the window. The sun was finally starting to rise, the warming light only broken by the slats of the blinds. The station was quiet, it was just a little before 7 am when Emma couldn’t stand staring at the walls in the apartment any longer. There was something off about these two. She knew it.

“Bit early for you Swan?” She looked from the window and smiled. The Captain leaned against the open-door frame to her office; a playful smirk brandishing his face, framed by dark stubble. Mischievous blue eyes shone at her, with the same level of shine that pinged off the curve of his hook. A hook that was currently holding aloft a Granny’s take out paper bag.

“Look who’s talking.”

“I’m always up at the crack of dawn, love.” He said pushing himself away from the frame and walking up to her desk. “I imagine you also skipped breakfast.” He said, placing the bag in front of her carefully. She would never admit it, but she was really starting to like the way Hook took care of her.

“How did you know I was here?” her smile not faltering as she opened the bag. A tall paper cup of coffee sat in a double cup carrier, a cream cheese bagel taking up the other empty slot.

“I didn’t if I’m honest. When your father called asking your whereabouts. I just assumed.”

Hooking the steel curve around the nearest chair he dragged it over to her desk, pulling up beside her and sitting down. His expression stiffening, brow creasing deeply as he watched the screen flicker in front of him. “What the hell’s it doin’?”

She laughed, her attention briefly flitting to the screen to check its progress, before lifting the warm coffee and bagel out the bag. “I couldn’t even begin to explain it to you.” She chuckled. Hook had come along way with learning the depths of human technology, even attempting to dress more modern. Ditching the silk vests and long leather coat for a much more fitting attire. But she worried that this would probably blow his little pirate mind. The fact that she was currently trying to connect to a government criminal database that held every known bit of information on just about everyone, might be a little bit too much for him to handle. “Simply put, it tells me who owns that car outside Granny’s last night... And if we should be worried about them.” He nodded seemingly understanding, leaning forward to stare at the screen intently. “Might take a while. It usually does”

“You’ve done this before?” He asked, eyes pulling away from the screen, brow raised along with his playful smirk.

“A few times. Back in the old days.” She took a hearty bite out of her bagel. Extending her arm, she offered the un-bitten end to Hook. He eyed it warily before taking a sizeable bite, the cream cheese attaching to his moustache. Emma chuckled, taking her thumb and wiping away the creamy residue, but was caught by surprise when he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. _‘Always_ _the gentleman.’_ She scooted her chair a little closer, hoping her intent was clear enough for the Captain to read. He grins wildly at her as he too moved in for a good morning kiss.

The double doors to the department clattered open, the pair pulling back sharpish as her father strode into the main space. “Did you even get any sleep last night?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the nearest chair before he too stood in the doorway to her office. Unlike Hooks casual stance, her father stood regimented, arms crossed, the tan straps to his gun holsters a stark contrast to the dark navy shirt he wore. 

Trying to explain how this man was her father to a stranger would be beyond complicated. The tall blond-haired man that stood before her with a soft smile could have been easily mistaken for her brother, given the similar ages the pair looked. But no, David Nolan was 100% her father. “Your mother told me you were up at 6 feeding Neal.”

“I got a couple hours.” She shrugged averting her father’s stare. Feeling every bit that naughty teenager. Her dad almost walking in on a non-existent make out session with her… pirate?

David rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Just like your mother. When you get on something you can’t let it go. What are you working on?” Pushing off the door, he walked around her desk to join there staring contest with the screen.

“Running the plates,” she said, thankful at least her father vaguely understood what she would mean. “Trying to find out who these guys really are”

“Ever thought they could be just a couple of guys, Emma.” Her dad quipped, one hand resting on the back of her chair.

“Nobody just wanders accidentally into Storybrooke”

“True. But it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad”

“They gave me fake names Dad. I’m sure of it.”

As if right on cue the computer pinged. The search was complete. With a few clicks of the mouse Emma was scrolling through countless police reports, her face getting closer and closer to the screen as she skim read each one. Breaking and entering, credit card fraud, grand theft auto, impersonating federal officers, kidnapping, arson. Who the hell were these guys?! Landing on another file she clicked it open to reveal mug shots. The familiar faces of the two brothers stared back at her. They looked younger, the images dated 5 years ago, but it was them.

“Sam and Dean Winchester. Born in Lawrence, Kansas.” She read out loud. “Deceased?”

Hook scoffed. “Not being funny love, but those two men we saw last night were definitely not dead.”

Scrolling through more and more files she landed on the last two reports, her eyes widening with fear, she drew away from the screen with a quiet _‘Woah.’_ David took over, getting closer to the monitor reading one of the reports out loud. “The two brothers entered the First Bank of Jericho in California. Rounding up every staff member on duty and customers inside the premises, before ushering them into the vault and… opening fire. Leaving no survivors.”

“Bloody hell,” Hook murmured, he too drawing closer.

David waved the mouse around the screen clicking through videos and still images of the brothers’ most recent rampage. A diner would seem, like Granny’s. The one video had been filmed from a phone, showing the brothers opened fire on everyone inside. Emma felt sick, she had seen enough. She pushed away from her desk, rounding her father and storming out into the main space of the department. “Emma?” David warned after her. “Don’t you even think about it.” He called following her path into the main room. “They’re dangerous.”

“And in our town!” She shot back turning on her heels. “I’m not going to sit by while these two supposedly dead, dangerous criminals sleep comfortably at Granny’s.” She walked over to the gun cabinet key already primed in her hand, sliding it into the lock. “We need to make sure they don’t leave town. If the government thinks there dead, and they're not. That’s bad news. We need to report this.” She said taking out a single handgun holster and attaching it to her hip, along with a set of handcuffs. Her father's hand swiping passed her to scoop up the second pair at the bottom of the lockup

“Agreed.” David said, attaching the second pair of handcuffs to his waist “But you’re not going alone. Hook, go with Emma in the squad car. I’ll follow in my truck.”

…::::::…

Adrenaline coursed through Emma as she rolled up outside the diner. The heavy-set muscle car still parked in front of the restaurant as it had been last night. At least they’re still here. With their weapons concealed, not wanting to draw attention to the other customers the three of them strode in.

The diner was seeing its usual early morning rush, townsfolk heading to Granny’s to get breakfast on the go. The smell of pancakes and coffee floating on the air. Granny was at the cash register, her frosty silver curls pinned back into a neat tidy bun, half-moon spectacles perched on the end of her nose as she jotted something down in a small notebook beside her. Sensing their arrival, she glanced up at the Sheriff over the rim of her glasses. With a loud sigh, she rested the pen in the book and closed it. “I know that look.” She muttered cynically, removing her glasses and letting them hang by the chain around her neck. “What is it this time?”

“Those two men who stayed last night. They still here?” Emma asked quietly, realising that a small group of dwarfs were very much in earshot of there conversation.

“I assume so,” Granny answered equally quiet, her arms folding across her chest. “Haven’t seen them for breakfast yet.”

“What rooms?” David interjected.

“5 and 6”

Emma looked to the back of the diner, towards the adjoining hallway that linked the two buildings together. “What’s going on?” Granny asked, still trying to keep it quiet, but the sheriff could sense the panic in the old lady’s voice.

“We’ll explain later,” David replied quickly and quietly. “But, if you hear gunshots you need to get everyone out of here and off the street.” The gravitas of the situation hitting Emma right between the eyes like a cartoon frying pan. This wasn’t just them putting their lives on the line right now. These Winchester men were serious business, and nobody in this building was safe.

Granny’s eyes widened and she nodded softly.

They headed towards the back, slipping down the small hallway that connected the diner to the B&B. Pushing the door open Emma walked to the reception desk. Ruby sat behind the counter reading a magazine. Her attention shooting upwards and rising to her feet just as quickly. “What is it?”

“Those two men. Are they still up there?”

Ruby frowned but offered a small nod. “Haven’t seen them all morning. I guess there still asleep.”

“Get inside the dinner with your Grandmother. Lock that door if you can.” David insisted.

“Why? Whats-”

“They’re wanted criminals Ruby.” Emma added quietly, “we need you where it's safe.” Ruby’s eyes grew even wider. Could hear the short, panicked breaths escape from her throat. “It’s going to be ok,” Emma assured, hearing the ascending footsteps of her father and Hook behind her. Ruby blinked, nodding quickly and dashing to the adjoining door, the latch lock clicking behind her as she disappeared into the busy diner.

Emma followed up the narrow staircase, the familiar wooden panelled walls always gave her a tranquil sense of home. But right now, she felt furthest from calm. She had faced witches, curses, hell even a dragon. But stalking down two wanted mass murderers… Her throat suddenly felt incredibly dry as she approached rooms 5 and 6, thankfully two rooms that were situated directly opposite one another. Her father poised his gun, waiting outside room 6 while Hook, in a similar stance, stood outside 5. Withdrawing her own firearm, the unfamiliar cold steel gripped tightly in her hands she joined Hooks side, softly counting down. “3…2…1.”

The men booted down the doors, splintering wood flying off in all directions as the pirate and Emma barged into the room, guns drawn. “On your knees!” Hook ordered; gun held chest hight pointing towards the occupant of the room. A pair of emerald green eyes shifted between the pair of them, strong square jawline ticking as he mulled them over. He did have a handsome face, GQ level of handsome, freckles covering the bridge of his nose, light brunette hair spiked and gelled to the side. Emma almost couldn’t believe this man was possible of killing so many innocent people.

A small cocky smile twitched at the corner of his lips as his two hands extended slowly outwards in surrender. One of them clutching a t-shirt. “Can I at least put a shirt on?” he gruffly requested.

Noticing for the first time that he was indeed shirtless. The man had a strong physique, trim waistline but swimmers’ shoulders and a very distinct tattoo inked on his left pectoral. “Won’t ask again,” Emma demanded, angling her gun higher, pointing it now directly at his head.

Letting his shirt fall to the floor the eldest brother slowly dropped to his knees. His hands coming around to be placed on the back of his head. Emma getting the feeling this wasn’t the first time he found himself in this position. Lowering her gun, she holstered it as she walked towards him, unclipping the cuffs from her waits. Taking his arms roughly she forced them down towards his lower back cuffing him. The steel clicking around his waist.

“There’s gotta be some misunderstanding here Sheriff.”

“I don’t think there is. _Dean._ That is your real name, right?”

Dean rolled his head to the side with a soft grumble. “Son of a bitch.”

She pulled him to his feet. Hook finally lowering and also holstered his gun. Taking the man’s shoulder and firmly marching him out of the room. They met David in the hallway, his head and shoulders peeking out from behind the other brother as he too was marched out of his room. He was much taller than all 4 of them, shoulder-length brown hair still wet from a shower. The end strands dampening his grey plaid covered shoulders. At least this one was dressed. With his hands also cuffed behind his back, the brothers shared an obvious look with one another, before Hook forcibly shoved the oldest along the hallway and towards the stairs.


	2. Old Journals and Fairy Tale Crap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all my years of writing, I have never gotten 2 chapters written so quickly!!  
> This chapter is pretty dialogue-heavy… that’s not how I usually like to write my stories, but I feel it was necessary. I hope you guys still enjoy it. As for the rest of the fic I’m aiming to keep it roughly 6-8 chapters long, but I guess we’ll see lol. 
> 
> For all those who’ve liked, bookmarked, and commented so far thank you! I honestly wasn’t expecting any feedback, it’s not exactly two fandoms that are usually paired together but I’m super happy you guys like it xD

“Henry. Breakfast”

Five more minutes, that’s all he wanted. He rolled over in his bed pulling the covers up over his head wishing he’d just drift off back to sleep. His dream had been so vivid, wanting to relive it. He was in a forest, trees towering above him, sword sheathed at his side. Another life perhaps. He groaned as the visions of his dream faded rapidly. But another thought pulled his mind in a different direction. Those two men. Henry couldn’t stop thinking about them all last night. He had never seen them before, not in his entire life, and yet somehow seemed so shockingly familiar.

He sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the dewy morning light seeping in from his bedroom window. Almost like a shining beam was calling him towards his dresser, the glow shimmering off the gold leaf embossment of his books leather-bound cover. 

Of course! Why had he not thought about it before?! He dashed to his dresser, pulling the book from the top and flicking through a few pages. It didn’t take him long to find exactly what he was looking for. He needed to get this to his mom. His _other_ mom.

“Henry!” his mother called again, her voice inches away from his closed bedroom door.

“I’m up,” he called back hastily. “Jus’ getting ready”

“Well, hurry up, you’re going to be late.”

School. Surely being the grandson of Prince Charming meant he would be exempt from such trivial things like homework. But sadly, also being the adopted son of the towns Mayor meant he had to follow the rules. Well… sometimes. He dressed hurriedly, shoving the book into his backpack, and wandering downstairs to meet his other mother for breakfast.

Regina Mills sat at the extensive dining table. Papers spread out in front of her, pen poised, wiggling it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Her chestnut stare drifting towards her adopted son as he took up his usual seat at the table. A small stack of pancakes in front of him.

“Looks great mom”

She smiled warmingly tucking a strand of her raven-coloured hair behind her ear, her attention drifting back to the papers in front of her. To say Henry was worried about her was probably an understatement. He knew it was a broken heart. Never having faced it himself, but he’d seen enough soppy romance stuff on TV to know as much.

There was definitely something going on between his mom and Robin, he had seen it with his own eyes. But the sudden arrival of Robin’s wife caused his own mom to shut him out, shut everyone out. She had locked herself in her home, their home, for days. Not wanting any contact with anyone. She had come along way, and this arrival of Marian would certainly throw a spanner into all the hard work they had done to overcome her... _‘evilness’_. But the fact she was doing work right now was a good sign, right? “What you working on?” Henry asked, trying to pose interest as he cut into his small stack.

She just smiled that sickly sweet smile of hers. “Some town budget stuff. Not overly exciting.” She signed the paper in front of her, swapping out the page for another one on the pile. “Are you heading to your grandparents after school?” She asked, the tone in her voice was mournful, as if expecting to know the answer already and not liking the outcome.

“Nope. Thought I’d come spend the evening with you.”

Her face softened as she looked to her son, “Henry” she crooned, a perfectly manicured hand stretching the short distance between them caressing his arm lovingly offering him a deep sincere smile. “I’d like that. Come meet me at the office after school, we’ll go for dinner at Granny’s”

He nodded his agreement as he shoved more fluffy pancakes into his mouth. With his breakfast cleaned, paper brown lunch bag safely tucked inside his backpack the pair of them headed out to the waiting car on the drive. Henry insisted he could walk to school, but his mother wasn’t having any of it. It was only a short drive to his school, sliding out the passenger seat and giving his mom a cheery wave as she drove away heading to city hall.

He made sure the car was well out of distance, knowing the mountain of trouble he would be in if she knew. He tightened the straps of his backpack and turned away from the school gates. Striding quickly and with determination towards the police station.

…::::::…::::::…::::::…

Sam’s arms hung loosely through the cell bars, the cold steel against his bare forearms watching the room with increasing interest. Mostly trying to scout out the place for some kind of escape route, if the FBI really were on their way, they’d be done for. A couple of desks sat in the centre of the department, a glassed off cubical to the far left indicating the ‘sheriffs office’. A few filing cabinets, bulletin board and what Sam assumed was the gun cabinet lined the far wall near the seemingly only exit in and out the place. A real small-town sheriff’s department, that probably never saw much action other than neighbours squabbling over what colour to paint a picket fence.

“Don’t we at least get a phone call?!”

He looked over his shoulder towards his brother. Dean laid stretched out across the only cot in the cell. Arm resting across his forehead as he lay staring up at the ceiling. One boot pressed to the thin mattress arching his knee, while the other hung over the side connecting with the floor. Still shirtless. “Who we gonna call?” Sam muttered eyeing his brother. “Ghostbusters?”

A faint smile twitched Dean’s lip and a quick expel of air huffed from his nose. “I dunno, Frank?”

Sam scoffed, angling his body more towards the bed. “You really think Frank will pick up an unlisted number from a town that doesn’t exist?”

“Well, who else we got.” He asked, his arm falling away to hang over the side of the cot, hovering in mid-air. “Garth?”

Sam shook his head wryly returning his attention to look back out over the Police department. “If we need to call Garth to help us then we really are screwed.”

“Pipe down you two,” their guard instructed. The same man that had Sam cuffed and frogmarched out of his room. He was sitting at the nearest desk to them, partially hidden behind a PC monitor. His gun laying on the table in front of him.

Sam’s jaw ticked, grinding his teeth together. They had been in tighter spots than this. There must be something they can do.

“Sooooo… what’s it like being back in the cage?” Sam froze, the hair across his arms and neck tingling as every follicle stood to attention. _‘No, not now.’_ “I’ll admit, it’s bigger than the last one, and colder too. Oh, and look! We got ourselves a brother!-” Sam refused to acknowledge his existence. He wasn’t real, he never was real. But he could feel that red-eyed stare beside him as real as he could feel Dean’s presence behind him. “-Ok… he’s not an archangel in a Winchester meat suit, but I can’t help it, Sam, I’m sentimental like that.” He knew he was inside the cell with them, leaning casually against the bars beside him, that malevolent smug grin stretching ear to ear as he watched Sam. Always watching Sam. “I just love reminiscing about the good ol’ times with you. Hey! Remember the hooks?! Oh, you cried bloody murder for days. Good times.” He chuckled warmly.

Taking his left hand between the thumb and forefinger of his right he squeezed. Clutching at that purple U-shaped scar across his palm, pinching the skin so hard it made his arms tremble, almost certain he was going to pierce his thumb right through his flesh.

“Sammy?” He looked behind towards his brother, panicked. Dean’s calm quiet gruff broke through the tormented haze. The haunting hallucination flickering beside him as it always did before vanishing from existence. His brother was sitting on the edge of the cot, his stare cold as worry creased his brow, forearms rested atop his thighs. “Lucifer?” Sam’s eyes darted around the cell checking he really was gone, trying to steady his breathing and finally nodded solemnly. Dean sighed loudly, scrubbing riled hands across his face, leaving white pressured score marks across his already pale skin. “Awesome.” He muttered agitatedly. Slapping his thighs in frustration “Seriously? Phone call!? Yes or no?” He barked at their guard.

“No!” The man replied, unphased by the brother’s outburst.

“Well can I at least get a friggin’ shirt?! It's cold!” Dean grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his bare biceps. Noticing the fine layer of goosebumps rising over his brother’s bare skin. He unbuttoned his own plaid shirt; grateful _he_ was at least wearing a t-shirt underneath. Slipping it off his shoulders he handed it to his brother.

Dean looked at the garment in his brothers’ outstretched arm. “I didn’t mean yours.”

“I know.”

He muttered a small thanks and excepted the shirt. Slipping it over his bare upper body and buttoning it. The doors to the department clattered open. The blond sheriff entered with her taller eyeliner clad henchman following suit. Their guard stood up also. “What’d you find?”

“A few things.” The sheriff answered. Eyes drifting to the cell briefly before discarding every little bit of incriminating evidence their glove box had to hold. Grateful they never found the fake trunk floor hiding their small arsenal of weapons. Sam recognising their handguns, a flashlight, Dean’s other-other cell, the state of Maine tourist map, the familiar black wallets holding their fake FBI credentials. Dad’s journal.

Sam tensed as the henchman thumbed through the leather-bound book. His eyes widening in surprise when he discovered he only had one hand. The journal balanced precariously in the curve of a silver hook. “Careful with that!” Dean barked from his bunk.

Eyeliner looked to them smirking. “You mean this?” he asked shutting the book and waving it in his only hand. The hint of a British accent mocking them. “Now, what’s so important about this little old book, mate?”

“I’m not your mate.” Dean gritted back, eyes burning as he glared.

The tall dark-haired man smirked; blue eyes surveying his brother. “Nice to see you got yourself dressed.”

“Hook.” The sheriff muttered, sounding like a warning as she cast a glance over him, taking the book out of his hand she placed it with the other belongings. “A lot of interesting stuff here gentlemen.” Neither brother said a word, they knew when to keep their mouths shut and this was one of those times. She walked from the desk towards the back of the department, seemingly towards her office. “Sit tight. Gotta make a phone call, then you’re the FBI’s problem.”

“Wait, Sheriff,” Sam called after her, knowing what little it would do to help them, but he had to try. “You got this all wrong.”

“Really?” she said turning back to face them, arms folding across her chest. “Humour me. What turns two fine upstanding citizens like yourselves to genocide?”

“That wasn’t us”

“Right.” The light merriment in her tone wasn’t lost on Sam. He knew it sounded crazy, “Then who was it?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Ok let’s start simple. Why are you in Storybrooke?”

“We told you. We were just passin’ through.”

She took a few steps closer to the cell, her arms falling to her sides. “Nobody just passes through here. If you found this place it means you’re here for a reason, so what is it.” Sam looked to Dean, unsure what to say, his brother confirming as much was a small almost unnoticeable shrug. They honestly hadn’t meant to come here. But a small thought prodded at him from the back of his mind, nothing happens to them _‘just because’,_ there was always a reason. “Y’know,” she said, moving even closer to the cell. Still just out of arms reach, but close enough to see the glimmer of her forest coloured stare. “I’ve got this little gift, a superpower, I can tell when someone’s lying to me. So, I’m going to ask you again. Why are you here?”

Sam’s demeanour relaxed slightly; they really did have nothing to hide. “We wanted somewhere to stop for the night. Didn’t want to sleep in our car.”

Her stare travelled down his tall frame, seemingly mulling over his answer. Her weight shifting slightly on her back foot. “Ok. Next question. How did you find us?”

Sam stammered, a small nervous laugh breaking through the tension and offering a small apologetic shrug. “I-I don’t know. We jus’ … did.”

“This place ain’t on any map.” Dean butted in. The temper in his voice flaring, “So even if we meant to come here on purpose it would have been pretty damn difficult. While we’re on the subject-” Dean moved coming to sand by his brother leaning against the bars also, fists wrapping around the steel as he stared at the sheriff. “How come there’s no information about you or this town anywhere?”

“I’d watch your attitude if I were you, mate.” The hook-handed man warned, stepping forward to stand with the sheriff.

“Hey, Johnny Depp, I told you I’m not your mate!” Dean quipped, “What’s with the hook anyway? You know you missed Halloween, right?”

Taking a dangerous step forward mere inches away from the cell bars, the silver hook clanging against the steel as the pair stared one another down. “I don’t like your tone.”

“I don’t like your eyeliner.”

“Enough.” The sheriff tugged at his elbow pulling him back. He obliged, stepping back to lean against the desk behind him. The darkening stare never leaving his brothers’. “Last question.” She said, now moving to stand directly in front of the two brothers. Almost as if she was protectively shielding the hook wheedling individual. “If you didn’t kill those people who did?”

“Leviathans”

“Sammy.” Dean barked a low warning.

“What choice do we have?” He replied, turning to see the knowing cautious look etched across his brother’s face. “If they don’t believe us we're screwed anyway, right?” The muscles in Dean’s jaw ticked over as he considered. With a deep exhale he conceded, his head rolling forward the metallic clunk of his skull meeting the bars ahead of him, waving his hand and allowing his brother to continue. Turning back to address the Sheriff, her stoic stare unwavering. He drew a deep breath and began. “We’re Monster hunters. It’s our job to protect people from things that can’t be explained. The – ‘ _Supernatural’._ Those two men who looked like us. They weren’t us. They were Leviathans. Nasty creatures that can change their appearance to look like anyone. They became us, to try and frame us.”

“And we put a stop to them,” Dean added, his head rising to address the room. “Saving people, hunting things… it’s kinda what we do. Don’t believe us check that diary. It’s our dads. It’s got every monster we’ve ever ganked in there.”

The three officers turned to the small stack of their belongings that littered the desk. The guard that had been keeping an eye on them was the first to reach the journal. As he flicked through the pages his frown deepened. Sam knew all too well the stories the pages of that book told. Tales of ghosts, vampires, wendigos, demons. Enough material in there to send the brothers carted off to the nearest insane asylum for good. His hard stare lifted from the pages as he passed the book to the sheriff. “You killed all these things?” He asked.

“And many more since our dad stopped writing in it. And only the ones that deserve it.” Dean answered honestly. “These bastards… they deserved it.”

He seemed to nod in almost agreement with his answer, sliding around the desk to lean against the front next to his hook-handed friend. “So, these _Leviathans_ you think there here? That’s why you found us?”

“Look man, we told you were here by accident,” Dean replied, the irritation palpable in his voice. “If you think you got these things here, we’ll sort them out. But we didn’t come here looking for them. Hell, we were not even meant to be here at all.”

“Then there here for something else,” The sheriff muttered, her interest in their father’s journey growing with every page turn.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean retorted feeling the irritation emanating from his brother.

The Sheriff finally looked up towards them. “Nobody _just_ finds this place by accident. You were meant to find us.”

Sam’s brow furrowed, opening his mouth wanting to ask more, but the loud commotion towards the far end of the station diverted everyone’s attention. “Mom?!” The doors to the station rattled open, the young boy who they met at the diner last night came hurtling round the corner breathlessly. His haste halting as he took in the sights before him.

“Henry what the hell!” The sheriff left her post, leaving the journal on the desk behind her and tending to her son. “You should be at school.”

“Those guys! I-I figured it out!” he said excitedly. Fumbling with his backpack he produced a large heavy bound book. The three adults gravitated towards the kid as he opened the thing and started flipping through the pages. Sam passed a confused glance to his brother, receiving an equally perplexed look in return. “There!” The kid exclaimed grabbing their attention again, his finger jabbing at a page.

“Son of a bitch.” The sheriff muttered, lifting the heavy looking book and holding it up towards the cell. The remaining three sets of eyes following, also looking toward the brothers.

“What?” They asked in unison. The tingling unease creeping up Sam’s spine.

The image of the sheriff changed dramatically. She no longer came across like the hard-nosed law enforcer, she softened, her stare growing concerned as she walked towards them, the book clutched in her arms, the open pages pressed to her chest. “I think I know why you’re here,” she said softly, turning the book so the brothers could see the page.

At first glance, it didn’t seem like much. Just some old storybook. The writing was too far away to read clearly, but Sam’s eyes widened at the realistic artwork that took up the neighbouring page. It was a portrait of two men standing proudly in amongst a dense forest backdrop, dressed in ragged leather-like armour, swords sheathed at their sides. And a majestic elegant jet-black horse standing like a barrier between the two men. Sam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The men depicted on the page were identical to him and Dean. Everything from his larger hight and the style of his hair. To Dean’s striking emerald green eyes and freckled covered nose.

“The hell?! T-that’s us!” Dean exclaimed. Trying to press his face in between the bars to garner a closer look. “What is this?!”

“This is the book of our lives. And you’re apparently in it.”

…::::::…::::::…::::::…

Dean pressed the tips of his fingers deep into his eye sockets. Feeling the small stress headache blossoming behind them. None of this made any lick of sense. “So. Let me get this straight,” he gruffed. Letting his hand fall away, hitting the desk in front of him with a soft thump. They were gracious enough to let them out of their cell, realising they were no danger to anyone here in the town, believing their story. Shockingly. But this new revelation was leaving a real sour taste in his mouth. He raised an accusing finger. “You’re the Prince Charming who married Snow White?” His finger pointing directly at _‘Prince Charming’_.

“Prince James. But David’s just fine.” He offered a small seemingly amused smile in return, shuffling on the spot but still standing proudly, chest puffed out with is arms folded across. Four sets of eyes were trained on him, feeling like he was the dumb kid in class made to look the fool. His brother’s doe-eyed stare however was trained on the book that lay open before him. His mouth pressed to the knuckles of his balled-up fist as he glared at the pages, elbow resting on the desk. 

His accusing finger snapped to the sheriff who was sat beside Sam, her wide worried stare not doing anything to ease Dean’s confusion. “And you’re his friggin’ daughter?!”

She shrugged. “It’s complicated, but, yeah.” She too gave him a small smile.

He swivelled on the rotating chair, the mechanisms underneath him squeaking so he could glare at Captain eyeliner. He stood behind his brother, glaring at the scene before him. “And who are you supposed to be. Captain hook?”

“Aye mate.” The man said almost defensively, a smug eyebrow raised.

“w-what. Seriously?” Sam muttered, his chair swinging around to look at the _pirate(?)_.

His gaze shifted to his brother. “Killian Jones. Pleasure.” He greeted with a small wave of his hook; a curt smile, however, there was no warmth behind the gesture. His harsh stare instantly fixing back to Dean’s.

“To be fair. My mom had a similar reaction,” the kid added, seemingly ignoring the intense staredown that was raging over him. He was sitting on the edge of the opposite desk beside them, legs kicking out into the open air between the two seated brothers. “Except there was a little less swearing.”

“Get to school!” His mother scolded pointing towards the door. “If your _mom_ finds out-”

“I’ll escort the lad,” Killian said cutting her off and placing his hand over Henry’s shoulder. The kid groaned, but obliged, hopping from the desk and scooping up his backpack onto his shoulder.

“Look after my book,” Henry called back as Killian ushered him through the open door.

“Well, he’s a barrel of laughs,” Dean muttered, making sure the pirate was well out of ear shot. Sam snickered; his lips parted slightly flashing his brother a set of pearly whites. Dean’s attention fell again to the open book before him. The pages were upside down from his vantage point, Sam seemingly taking an unhealthy obsession with the thing. The image of an elegant wedding all golden and blush reds filled the page before him. The depiction of the man that stood to his left, Prince Charming-James-David _-whatever-_ stood in the centre of the image, arms wrapped around his blushing bride decked in white. Looking the furthest from happy on their supposed wedding day.

“Seriously? Captain hook?” Sam shifted his interest back to the Sheriff, his jaw slightly aghast as he gawked at her. “Like… the lost boys and Peter Pan?”

She smiled coyly nodding at him, flipping through the pages and opening it at a new chapter. The pirate stood front and centre on the deck of a ship; telescope raised to his eye. The same douche bag beard and smug smile, a long leather coat flapping in the wind as a storm raged around him. “We’ve had run-ins with Pan. He’s… actually Henry’s great grandfather.” She muttered bashfully.

“Ok no!” Dean kicked his chair back standing to attention. “This is bull!” Marching over to one of the tall windows he lent against the glass staring out at the town. This magical mystery town was full of crap that Dean didn’t even want to begin to comprehend. He watched the pirate and the kid walk down the sidewalk like it was the most normal thing in the world, seemingly unaware of the eldest Winchesters glower. How could any of this be even possible? They dealt with bizarre on a daily basis, hell, they were raised in bizarre. But this, all of this, this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

“If this is us.” He heard his brother ask. Closing his eyes again he took a deep steadying breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves. He couldn’t seriously be buying into this… “Why don’t we remember.”

“Because it’s not us Sam!” Dean bit back. Turning forcibly to scowl at the remaining occupants of the room. David and the Sheriff sharing similar looks of confusion while his brother gave him that resting bitch face. “This-” he gestured to the book open in front of Sam “This fairytale crap. None of it is real.”

“How is it any less real than the things in that diary,” David asked, his head flicking a nod towards their dad’s journal, still sitting atop the pile of stuff that had been confiscated from their car.

Dean seethed, he hastily began to unbutton Sam’s shirt, yanking his left shoulder out the sleeve in protest, showing it to the room. “Because of this!” The handprint was not as aggressively scarred as it once was. The reddened welts fading over time. But Castile’s ‘raising him from perdition’ was still strikingly visible next to the contrast of his skin. “I have scars all over my body from fights with monsters that would look at you like you were an appetizer. That’s real.” The irritation flicking in his voice as he re-dressed himself. “Our Lives, our memories of people we lost didn’t come from some book! Our parents, Cass, Bobby-”

“Dean”

“What?!” He snapped at his brother. Regretting instantly as the soft puppy dog stare and gentle call of his name waned any tension he felt in his rigid shoulders. Sam turned the book on the desk so Dean could see it the correct way around as he slowly flipped the page. The next pages looked very much like the last. Block paragraphs of text, broken by a few realistic-looking images. However, the smallest image on the page was what drew Dean closer to the table. The familiar rounded jaw, rustic greying unkempt beard, soft blue eyes that seemed both doting and threatening. Could practically hear him call everyone an “idjit” right from the page. Dean just stared as his chest tightened, in that moment any words or thoughts felt lost, redundant. This wasn’t possible. Without a glance to anyone in the room, Dean walked away from the desk, wide strides across the sheriff’s department barging through the double doors, ignoring his brothers call after him.

It was a crisp winters morning. The sun shone brightly in a blue sky, but the icy wind wrapped around Dean as he pressed his palms to the brick-walled exterior of the station, pushing, the rough wall face scratching at his palms, the tips of his fingers digging into the masonry. His raging breaths catching in the air in small puffs of steam, flowing around him and evaporating.

It wasn’t long until Dean heard the doors to the station open and close again. Solid footfalls heading in his direction. “You ok?”

His jaw clenched at Sam’s stupid question and decided not to rise to it. “Why the hell is Bobby in that book?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and monotoned.

“I don’t know,” his brother replied seemingly completely at ease.

“You know all this is crazy, right?!” Dean said pushing off the wall to stare at his brother. That dopey concerned puppy-dog look still washing across his features.

His brother scoffed, “Is it any crazier than our actual lives?” A shy half-smile pulling at the corners of his lips seemingly irritating Dean even more.

“How are you not freaking out about this?!”

“You don’t think I’m freaked out?” Sam responded incredulously, his eyes widening. “I just discovered I’m in a book with Snow White! But this isn’t the first time we’ve had our lives written on a page Dean.”

Dean took a deep breath looking to the sky. Another deep expel of air floating up and around them before vanishing into the blue morning. That much was true. Those books had depicted their entire lives, from day one. “At least that weaselly little bastard never wrote about me riding a horse.”

“You did ride a donkey once.” His fiery stare glowered at his brother, could feel all the tension in his brow as he frowned, jaw solid as his molars gritted together. Jokes, that’s all this was to him one big joke?! Sensing his brothers' anger Sam rose his arms slowly in surrender. “Just calm down, ok. We’ll figure this out, we always do.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” He bit back. Turning on his heel and heading towards the sidewalk. “I’m done with this place, we’re leaving.”

“What?” Sam’s hurried footfalls echoed behind him as he jogged to keep up with his brother. Sidestepping him and rounding to his front, pausing his pace with a raised hand. “Don’t you think we should at least try and find out what this means?”

“No Sam. I am _really_ happy with not knowing. Get the stuff we’re going, now!”

“You can’t.” The sheriff called from behind them. The brothers turned to face her; hands wrapped around her jacket-clad arms in a self-hug. The glass-fronted doors of the Police department shutting behind her as she walked forward. That same stupid concerned look still in her eyes. “If you cross that town line, I honestly don’t know what will happen to you.”

“Is that a threat!?” Dean asked taking a step towards her, only halted by the feel of his brothers' grip on his bicep.

Seemingly disregarding his question, the sheriff never broke a step as she walked slowly towards them. “Nobody leaves this place without some accident following them.” She said gravely. “I’ve seen cars ran off the road as if they’ve collided with an invisible barrier. People losing their minds, not just forgetting where they are, but _who_ they are.” She stilled looking to each brother before addressing Dean again. “I meant what I said, nobody just _finds_ this place. If you’re here, it’s because the town wanted you to find it.

“Why?” he batted back tersely.

She shrugged, the golden locks across her shoulders dislodging and falling behind her with the motion. “Best bet, Henry's book. If you don’t know then maybe the pages might do.”


	3. The Tale of Two Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m honestly blown away by all the love for this little fic is getting. Thank you all once again for indulging in my little pipe dream lol!   
> Confession time, I had this chapter finished before Christmas and was meant to post it over the holidays. (Sorry!) However, Chapter 4 is almost done and hopefully should be with you by the weekend :) x x

The day seemed to drift by slowly, the perplexity of the entire situation not making Dean’s mood any better. In fact, he was getting more and more riled up by the second. They decided to visit the town line, not long after the sheriff ‘officially’ let them go. Dean needing to see first-hand what was keeping him from leaving. His mood coiled tighter when they realised at first glance, there was nothing. A thick orange spray-painted line split the road down the middle, stretching the length of the highway and meeting the treeline either side. There were no trolls, no man-eating tigers, nothing.

“Let’s just blow this popsicle stand!” Dean said, his hands gripping the car’s steering wheel a little tighter.

“You heard the sheriff,” Sam mumbled in reply, eyeing up the empty forest road ahead of him. Unclipping his seat belt, Sam slid out the Impala and headed to the trunk, with a roll of his eyes Dean followed, shutting off the engine. His brother was elbow deep in their small collection of weapons. Knives, guns, holy water and enough salt to de-ice this entire road twice over, but Sam bypassed all of these and lifted out a small rectangular device hidden inside a duffle bag, the lights atop flickering red as the EMF meter powered up.

His brother took long strides down the road towards the orange line. While Dean had been telling himself that this was all a load of crap, watching his brother walk towards that supposedly dangerous line made the anxiety spike in his veins. He followed cautiously, his eyes darting around the vicinity, keeping a watchful lookout.

The toes of Sam’s boots met the line, his arm waving the device in the empty space beside him, making sure that no part of him or the reader crossed that line. The lights of the EMF flickered and crackled, a minor reading, nothing to say it was paranormal, but enough to indicate there was indeed something here. Pocketing the device, Sam drew his hand up, “Sammy, be careful.” Dean warned, but his brother shrugged him off. His palm facing the road ahead of them like his was waving to a friend in the distance, he pushed the limb forward and over the town line.

A strange emanating glow swelled around Sam’s arm. It rippled like water, shimmering blues and purples swirling around the limb. He withdrew his arm quickly, shaking it like the thing bit him. “That feels really weird,” he admitted with a slight smile.

Dean’s gaze cast upwards, trying to see if there was some logical explanation for the wall, but was met with nothing but blue sky and tree line. Dean adjusted his stance, turning his body to face Sam, left shoulder towards the ‘wall’ balling his fist. He shifted the weight quickly on his feet, rocking back and forth as if psyching himself up. He did it quickly, almost like he was trying to punch a hole through the thing. _“Woah.”_ The same shimmering illuminations circled Dean’s arm, as he unballed his fist and swirled his arm around, creating a figure of eight pattern in the force field. The tingling started slowly, first taking his fingertips, travelling up his palm, to his wrist, his forearm. The longer Dean kept his stance the more powerful the feeling became until it was uncomfortable.

He withdrew just as quickly as Sam had, shaking away the strange fuzzy but numb feeling. “Dude, it’s like pins and needles.” He said cradling the arm to his chest.

“Yeah.” Sam agreed. “Guess we really are going nowhere.”

They continued to spend the rest of the day exploring the small town, hoping that something familiar may scream out at them. But nothing did. Everything almost seemed to perfect inside the dome of this little quintessential Hallmark town. The morning bled into late afternoon when Dean finally succumb to Sam’s dumb idea of actually reading the book. He didn’t even want to give those leathered bound pages any sort of acknowledgement as he paced the small space inside his room, avoiding all eye contact with it and his brother. “Just gimmie the cliff notes of the thing ok,” Dean grumbled, his hand roughly rubbing at his jaw.

Sam lay across his brothers’ bed, his back pressed to the ornate wooden headboard, boots kicked off and long legs stretched across the hideous floral comforter, crossed at the ankles. The spine of the book balanced on his lap with the pages angled away from him. The soft sunlight casting through the window shone off the golden embossment on the front cover. _‘Once Upon A Time - gimme a break.’_ “The tale of two brothers” Sam read aloud. “Born into a life of poverty. Their mother died while the boys were young. Their father driven mad by her sudden death abandoned his two sons-”

“A-ha! That’s the first mistake.” Dean said halting his pacing to point an accusative finger at Sam, “Dad never abandoned us.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyes drifted from the page, a soft scowl crinkling his forehead, “The only roof over our head was the car’s. Drifting from motel to motel our entire lives, seeing dad in between hunts maybe twice a week if we were lucky?” The statement hung in the air between them uncomfortably, Dad was never going to win any father of the year awards, but he always did the best he could, and Sam knew that.

With a loud sigh, he raked a hand through his short hair. Really not wanting to rehash _this_ argument again. “What else does it say?” Dean asked.

“ _-Er-_ The boys were taken in by a lonely huntsman, who treated them like they were his own children. Taught them how to hunt, how to fend for themselves before he died.” Another beat and Dean ground his molars, pushing aside any thoughts or feelings about Bobby being brought up again. He strode across the room to a small armchair, his jacket hanging over the armrest. Tucked away hidden inside one of the pockets was Bobby’s old cantina flask, battered, bruised, and had probably seen more fights than Dean and Sam had combined. He unscrewed the lid and took a hearty swig of whisky. The seemingly Pavlov effect every time the man was brought up in conversation. “The brothers travelling the known kingdoms taking on friends along the way, helping those in need _-huh-_ ” Sam huffed, seemingly surprised as he turned the page.

Dean’s interest suddenly peaking, pocketing the flask. “What?”

“The brothers part ways. The youngest led astray, succumbing to a darkness he found hard to overcome. He instructs his older brother to lock him away, where he can be of no harm to anyone. Forcing the oldest to carry on alone.” Hazel eyes lift from the page, his expression that of both surprise and assured. That did sound like them. And Sam was still heavily paying the price for being locked away in that cage.

Dean leaned his ass against the small dresser opposite the bed, his attention flicking between his brother and the book. The antique furniture creaking slightly under him as he allowed it to take his full weight, baring his hands either side of him atop the solid surface. “Ok, as coincidences go that’s a little … coincidental.”

Sam nodded mutely before turning back to the page to read more. “It says the older brother meets a warrior, who was captured and tortured by a monster, keeping him held hostage. He ends up rescuing him, killing the monster. Get this… the warrior was the son of a king, who feared his son was dead and would never be seen again.”

“So, I rescue a prince, not a princess?” Dean rolled his eyes, bringing his arms to cross over his chest. “Awesome”

“The king is so grateful for the brother killing the monster and saving his son that he … No Way!” Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a wide owlish stare lifts from the page again to his brother. “It’s Castiel!”

“What?!” Pushing off the dresser Dean hurtled over to the bed, sitting beside his brother as Sam angled the book so they could both read the page. Sure enough, dressed in the finest looking golden vestments were a set of familiar eyes, blue as a cloudless sky. The usual perplexed expression staring up at him from the page, eyes slightly narrowed and head tilting to the left. Dark hair tousled haphazardly atop his head and the faintest darkening of a 5’oclock shadow covered his jawline. He’d recognised that Angel anywhere. The painful flood of memories engulfed him. Blood, darkness, the lake, all of it. All of it coming back as he stared down at the painted picture making his hollow chest ache. ‘ _Bobby and now Cas, this was cruel_.’ Quietly, scooting closer to Sam he read the page for himself.

_‘The king overjoyed at the safety of his sons' return and removal of the monster that threatened their kingdom, he dubs the brother as the towns righteous protector and offers him any one of his daughters for him to take as a wife. However, during their travels back to the warrior’s kingdom, the eldest brother and warrior develop a_ _profound bond and fall in love._

_Forgoing the king’s daughters, he asked for the son’s hand in marriage instead, to which, the king graciously accepts.’_

It was like any moisture inside Dean’s mouth had evaporated in an instant, his tongue feeling scratchy against the roof of his mouth. Refusing to acknowledge that emptiness he felt since the day he left, now had a place in existence. He couldn’t ignore it. It was like a cold blade plunged into him, the sorrow overwhelming, a resentful numbness pounding in his brain as he re-read the same words. _‘Profound bond…’_

“You Marry Cas!?” Sam exclaimed, dragging Dean out of whatever moment he was having. Punctuating his outburst with a small laugh.

“Shut Up!” Dean growled, frowning hard as he rose to his feet and stormed over to the dresser again. His breaths were short, the pain in his chest multiplying as he gripped the top of the chest of drawers, knuckles whitening as his fingertips curled at the wood. Forcing himself to even out his breathing. He’d been in denial since that day at the lake, not wanting to entertain the idea of the sudden loss his heartfelt. Keep calm and carry on, right? Put on a happy face…

Sam shifted on the bed behind him, the springs squeaking as he muttered. “It gets worse”

“Worse than Me and Cas getting hitched?!” Dean retorted, much sharper than he intended and hating the way it sounded so vicious coming off his tongue.

Sam cleared his throat as he continued to read. “Upon hearing the destruction of her monster, the evil witch is distraught and travels to the kingdom to find whoever slayed her beast. She finds the brother, casting a spell on him and turning him to solid stone. Preserving his body, but slowly killing him.” Dean closed his eyes, letting go of a harsh irritated breath. “Meanwhile, while locked away the youngest sensing there was a problem breaks free and comes to the rescue. Smiting the witch and saving his brother. However, his powers grow too strong and he’s unable to control them, forcing the oldest to kill his only family.”

Dean let out a short burst of a breathy laugh. “So, the reason we’re here is because I gotta gank you? I thought fairy tales were supposed to have happy endings.” He shot a scored look over his shoulder, Sam still engrossed in the pages in front of him, a concentrated scowl creasing his forehead.

“No, that can’t be it,” Sam replied quietly, flicking through a few more pages. “It’s gotta be something to do with Cas.” He was so quiet that Dean almost didn’t hear him. Almost. Dean’s jaw tightened as he turned to face him glowering. The fact that Sam was even nursing this as a possibility made Dean’s skin prickle with irritation. Still flicking through the pages of their story, he’s seemingly unaware of his brother’s dislike for the simple notion. “He’s the only one in our story that’s… well… still alive.”

“But he _isn’t_ Sammy! Cas is dead.”

“But what if he isn’t,” Sam looked to his brother, a shimmering gleam of hope catching in his stare. “The King thought his son was dead too. What if … What if Cas _is alive_ and he’s here somewhere!” The excitement in his tone wasn’t lost. And as much as Dean didn’t want to believe it, his brothers’ optimism was contagious.

“Why would Cas be here?” he asked softly. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know Dean, maybe he came looking for us. We don’t exactly stay in one place for too long and we’ve not been contacting him. Maybe he was zipping in and out of locations and now he’s here, stuck, like we are.” Dean rested against the dresser again, arms crossed, head hung low, ashamed of himself more than anything for contemplating this idea. “Don’t you think if he’s out there we should at least try?” Sam shifted on the bed drawing Dean’s attention to him again. He adjusted his seating position to pull his cell phone out his pocket. With a quick tap of a few buttons, Sam cast a look upwards to him and held the phone to his ear. The enthusiasm in his stare dropped as quickly as the phone did from his ear. “Lines disconnected.” He muttered tossing the thing beside him on the bed.

“Because he’s dead, dead people don’t answer the phone.”

“Prey to him”

Dean scoffed, rolling his head back to stare up at the ceiling. This was getting ridiculous. “Oh, come on Sammy!”

“Jus’ humour me… he always comes when you call.” Dean rolled his head back to look into that damn puppy dog stare his brother had perfected over the years. “Besides he’s your husband.” The small, amused smirk that trickled across his brother’s face sent frustration licking at his veins. His jaw ticked as he scowled, but he decided to let that one slide… just this once.

Taking a deep breath, he uncrossed his arms. Bracing his hands either side of the dresser once again and trained his attention to the floor. It’s been a while since he’d done this… “Cas?” he called out “Cas man if you’re out there give us a sign.” Silence still wrapped around the pair; Dean cleared his throat. “Were in a little B&B in a place called Storybrooke, room 5. If you’re out there, and you can hear me… Jus’ let us know you're alive.”

The silence that filled the room was deafening.

No rush of wind, no flutter of angelic feathers, no low gruff greeting. Just the sound of a rapid heartbeat in a chest he thought was empty. The hope he had built up melted quicker than ice on the first day of spring. He let out a sorrowful breath as he looked to his brother. The same sad expression mimicked in his stare.

There was a knock at the door.

Both brothers looked to the entry and back at one another. Eyebrows skyward, eyes wide. Sam shifted on the bed, dropping the book beside him as his feet planted on the carpeted floor, but Dean moved quicker. Pushing off the dresser and hurling himself at the door. That hopefulness building rapidly once again as his hand reached for the handle and throwing it open.

The disappointment sucker-punched him in the gut, expecting to see bright shining blue eyes, but was met with the slightly perplexed forest tones of the town Sheriffs stare. She took a step back, unsure what to make of Dean’s swift reaction and sudden unhappiness. “Expecting someone else?” She asked modestly, but the air of caution still swam around her. Dean passed a look to his brother as he stepped aside letting her into the room. The let-down rang throughout Sam too, his shoulders slouching forward as he rubbed the tops of his thighs nervously.

“Sheriff,” his brother greeted warmly, offering her a seemingly forced smile.

“Please. Call me Emma.” She said warmly with a smile to match.

“Not here to arrest us again, are you?” Dean quipped closing the door behind her.

“No. I brought a peace offering instead.” She raised an arm presenting them with a six-pack of beers, waggling them in the air before depositing them on the dresser beside her. “And to bring back your dad’s journal,” she said, placing the small diary on top of the six-pack “From what I read, your dad seems like a real hero. I see where you to get it from.”

Dean scoffed, “Yeah. He was somthin’.” Helping himself to one of the beers, pulling the cool silver can free he handed it to Sam. His brother taking it but placing it on the nightstand beside him. Pulling a second and third free from the plastic restraint and handed one to Emma. “You on duty?”

“Technically.” She said offering a small smile but accepted the offering anyway. “Just don’t tell my dad.”

Dean smirked, _‘If I had a nickel for every time a girl had told me that...’_ Pulling the tab on his can he took a hearty swig, before settling down in the armchair. “So, what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked, sinking into the plush cushions.

“Just want to check up on you boys, see how you’re doing.”

“Oh, we're just peachy,” Dean replied cynically.

The sheriff smiled softly and seemingly to herself. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. That book can be a lot to take in.” Opening her can and taking a swig herself. “Y’know, Henry wasn’t kidding when he said I had a similar reaction.” She smiled fondly looking down at the can in her hands, “I had a life before this place to… a lonely, kind of miserable life… but it was mine. I was in foster care, bounced from home to home. I did a lot of stuff I am _not_ proud of, spent time in jail for it. Gave birth while I was in there.” Dean took another swig of beer, leaning forward to rest his elbows atop his thighs clutching his can with both hands as he listened. His attention briefly flicking to his brother, who had repositioned himself on the bed, one leg drawn up onto the mattress, forearm resting on the knee that was flush against the sheets. “I gave him up for adoption thinking he’d have a better shot at life away from me. But that book-” She said with a mere smile, nodding towards the thing by Sam’s knee. “That book found him, and he found me. Started telling me that I was this saviour that could break the curse that this town was under.” She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “It took me a hella of a long time to believe him… So, I know what you’re going through. And know how crazy and messed up all this sounds.” She looked to Dean with kind eyes and a slight smile. Dean knew all too well about being told he was destined for a greater purpose. At least he could relate to that.

“How did your son get a hold of this thing?” Sam asked.

Emma shook her head turning to address him, “No idea. It just appeared to him when he needed it most. He was going through a lot at the time, and the book really helped. Thought maybe it will help you guys find something to…”

Sam shifted eagerly on the bed, reopening the book. “Actually, I think we might have-”

“Sammy.” Dean warmed, flashing a glare to his brother, knowing all too well where he was about to go. “Jus’ Drop it.”

His warning was met with a classic Sam Winchester bitch face. His lips drawn into a solid line as he frowned with equal annoyance at his brother. “But Dean-”

“Cas is Dead Sam!” he barked. The spike of irritation hitting him right in the chest. “We saw him walk into that lake and never come back out!”

“Just because we didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!” Sam bit back with just as much ferocity.

Dean shook his head, huffing out a mirthless laugh. “I swear, I’m gonna take that book and shove it so far up your ass-”

“Ok!” Emma called over the bickering pair. Palm raised to each brother, silencing them. “You want to start from the top?” She asked addressing Sam, arms folding across her chest.

Dean sunk back into his chair with an agitated breath, scornful scowl aimed at the pair as his brother began. “Castiel. He’s a friend of ours. We thought he was dead-”

“He is” Dean muttered, drawing the can back to his lips for another sip. But his comment fell on deaf ears.

“-But he’s alive in this, in our story.” Sam continued, the anticipation peaking in his voice again as he flipped through the pages. “They thought he was dead in the book to, but he wasn’t … do you recognise him?” Sam turned the book handing it to Emma as she lifted the book to inspect the page. 

After a tense beat, she shook her head solemnly, “Sorry, I’ve never seen him before.” She muttered, still turning the pages. “But that doesn’t mean he might not be. There’s townsfolk cropping up here all the time that I’ve never met.”

“So, he could be-”

“We called him Sammy. He didn’t pick up.” Dean gruffed. His grip on the can tightening slightly as he let his arm hang loosely over the arm of the chair.

His brother’s attention flicked to Dean. “Maybe this place is affecting his _call_ frequency. Besides… It’s not like we got anywhere else to go right now.”

Deans jaw ticked, his attention casting out the nearby bay window. His mind wandered briefly, casting back to a time and place he thought he once forgot. Like a ghost from his past there he stood staring out a similar window. Trench coat billowing, gaze fixed on the outside. “Just because he’s alive in the book doesn’t make it real,” Dean muttered. Ripping himself from the memory and taking another deep swig of his beer.

“This guy… who was he to you?” The Sheriff's comment caught Dean off guard. She was studying a page, her brow furrowed slightly before her forest green stare met his. “Nobody gets this fired up over someone unless there important.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and it quickly dawned on him what page she was probably studying. _‘Profound bond’_

“He was my best friend.” He replied instantly, no hesitation. Sitting up a little straighter, he drew his arm back to rest the can on his knee, watching drops of condensation trickle down the aluminium. “He did something stupid and he paid the price. And now he’s gone, jus’ like everyone else.”

“You guys see a lot of death, huh?”

Dean smiled mirthlessly shaking his head softly before meeting her soft gaze, “The life of a hunter sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ but misery, suffering and death.” He raised his can in a sort of weird toast before knocking back yet another hearty mouthful.

Emma scoffed. “Maybe I should have brought you something stronger than beer.” The pages rustled as she closed the book and placed it on the bed next to Sam. “Well, if your friend is here there might be one person who knows. He seems to know more about the goings-on in this place than I do.”

That was all Sammy needed to hear, he was on his feet quicker than a hiccup, yanking on his boots, impatiently chattering to her about a meeting. Dean wished he had Sam’s enthusiasm over the situation, he really did. But if this ended up to just be another dead end… Dean already lost him once. He did not want to entertain the thought of seeing him again, letting that belief and hope that he was still alive build, not sure how he would cope when they would just meet another empty fruition. 


	4. Where's The Angel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its taken so long to get this next chapter out! After posting number 3 I re-read this one and decided I didn’t like it and re-wrote the whole thing lol!  
> Chapter 5 is in the works :) and once again thank you all so much for the love this little story of mine xXx

Dean lagged behind the pair as they strolled down main street. A few cars zipped by, passing friendly enough faces who all greeted the town's sheriff in earnest. This man they were going to meet was known only as Mr Gold. He owned the towns pawnshop and from the sounds of it was a pretty shady character, which Dean had to scoff at. There was no such thing as an honourable pawnbroker. But the way Emma spoke about him made it seem like he was dealing more than just unfair trades for your old gold watch. She didn’t trust him, she made that abundantly clear to the brothers. But he was a fountain of knowledge, and if he couldn’t help them, then apparently no one could.

“Let me do the talking,” Emma instructed. They arrived outside what looked like a pretty mundane shop front. Pale blue wooden panelling decorated the front with a burgundy wooden front door. The blinds pulled down in the windows, shielding the outside from what was inside. If it hadn’t been for the large lit-up sign above the front door announcing it was “Mr Gold’s Pawnbrokers” Dean would have just walked straight on passed. Inside however…

A bell chimed overhead as Emma pushed open the door. A cheery sound that Dean felt might have been a contradiction to what they were about to endure. Dark walls framed the store, housed inside its walls a myriad of trinkets and knickknacks littering every display case, shelf, even hanging from the ceiling. Glass fronts and metallic coatings glinted like treasures in a cave of wonders in the shops light; some ornaments on the higher shelves covered in a fine coating of dust, and that hearty smell of old musty books lingering in the air. Dean had been into many pawnbrokers in his time, but never one quite like this.

“Emma.” A smiling auburn-haired woman, with porcelain skin and features of soft as a doll stood behind the golden cash register, welcoming the Sheriff. While the greeting had been warm and friendly, her curious gaze found the brothers in an instant, eyeing them both warily.

“Hey Belle, Gold around? I need to talk to him.”

“H-he’s outback, I’ll go get him.” With a swift turn, the woman vanished through the flutter of a curtain, disappearing into the back of the store.

Meanwhile, Dean’s attention was still flicking from item to item, like a marble stuck inside a pinball machine. He smiled when he took sight of a wide display of weapons, which naturally, he seemed to gravitate towards. “Dude, check these out!” He whispered excitedly as he wandered over to the wall-mounted display. Broad swords, axes, archers bows covered a small section of space, the soft light from the overhead fixtures pinging off the sharpened gold and silvered metals. “Maybe we should get something new to play with,” he smiled up to his brother, but the gesture faded instantly. Sam was clutching at his hand again. A visibly pained expression creasing his face. “You ok?” Dean said raising a hand to rest on his shoulder, but he was taken aback when Sam flinched violently away, like his touch burnt.

“I-I’m fine.” Sam nodded solemnly. But he looked the furthest from it. His grip was tight on his palm, stronger than usual, you could practically see his knuckles turning white. Two hallucinations in one day can’t be a good sign.

“If you need to step out-”

“I’m ok,” he muttered quietly, not wanting to draw attention to the situation. Sam’s eyes drew away from his brother to look at the display in front of him, his pained expression morphed into one of curiosity. “Dean…”

Raising his scarred hand, he pointed at the display case in front of them, Dean following his brother’s gaze. Inside the glass-fronted cabinet were some of the most beautifully forged blades, knives and daggers that Dean had ever seen. But in amongst the seemingly medieval-looking relics was a weapon that looked strikingly out of place. It was sleek and a stunning silver, a stark contrast to its iron and leather-clad neighbours. The long-rounded metal handle was fused onto the distinctly familiar three-sided prismatic blade. An incredibly rare, but distinct weapon that the brothers knew all about. An Angel Blade.

“Miss Swan.” Dean’s attention drew away from the cabinet to the furthest end of the store. From behind a purple velvet curtain strode an older looking gentleman. He was a lot younger than Dean was expecting, late 40’s he’d reckon. Dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, a similar length to his brothers, however, unlike Sam’s shampoo commercial-style fluff, this was sleeker, almost greasy looking. He was dressed in a sharp charcoal grey pinstripe suit, red tie to match. The hit of a Scottish accent hid behind that slight smile of his, the natural creases of his frown lines darkening in shadow as he did so, making the gesture feel more sinister than inviting. “Business or Pleasure?” he asked, taking his rightful place behind the cash register. The younger woman following behind looking nervously as she, once again, studied the brothers.

“It’s always business with you Gold,” Emma said as she swaggered confidently up towards the counter. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Really. And there was me thinking you’d found that _someone_. How is our dear Captain?”

“These two gentlemen are looking for their friend.” Emma continued, ignoring Gold’s comment. “Was hoping you could help us.”

“Hey. Is-is he ok?” Belle asked. Her question was directed passed the sheriff towards the brothers, making both sets of eyes turn on them. However, their attention was aimed more towards Sam. Dean looked across to his brother, eyes widened in panic as he scanned him. He was pale, shaking, blood pooled in his left nostril before it slowly trickled down to his lip. “Sam?” he swayed slightly, without hesitation Dean caught his bicep stabilizing him.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, eyes widening as she moved closer to them.

“Panic attack.” Deans instant reply. Flashing a forced half-smile to everyone in the room. “He’ll be fine, just need some air.”

Swiftly moving behind his brother Dean took him by the shoulders, guiding him to the door. The cheery bell overhead announcing their departure as they left. “Sammy talk to me.” His brother looked pale, panting hard as if he’d just finished a marathon. At least Sam was mobile, but it didn’t do much to calm Dean’s nerves. That pinch to his hand still held strong, like he had been superglued to himself. He was wobbly on his feet, head lolling from side to side as the movement of his upper body jostled it, Dean had to use more upper body strength to keep his brother upright and walking than he imagined he would. A few short paces away from the store was a bench. Ushering his brother towards it and forcing him to sit he caught his own breath while simultaneously giving his brother the once over. He still looked pale, but a little bit of colour was returning to his cheeks, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath and a fine sheen of sweat glinted across his forehead.

“You ok?!” Dean asked, not even attempting to mask the panic in his voice.

“I-I don’t know.” Sam closed his eyes shaking his head as he caught his breath, letting the weight of his head roll back to meet the top slat of the bench’s backrest. Finally letting go of his hand and using the back of it to wipe at the blood dripping from his nose. That’s when Dean noticed even more blood across his palm, the guy had been squeezing so hard he’d managed to reopen the scar with his thumbnail. Crouching beside him Dean franticly padded his pockets looking for something, anything to wipe away the blood. He found an old used napkin, taking Sam’s hand and pressing it tightly to the fresh wound. Sam’s head shot up, he didn’t complain, but the slight scowl indicated otherwise. “That wasn’t just a hallucination.”

A chill travelled the full length of Dean’s spine. “Then what the hell was it?”

“No idea.” Sam shook his head. “Whatever it was. It’s…It’s gone now.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

“Apart from my hand-” he said looking down towards the bloodied tissue squeezed tightly in his palm “-and the mild headache, I feel fine.”

“Well, you don’t look it Sam.” The whisper of movement behind him caught Dean’s attention, his gaze casting back to the shop front, the door to the shop opened, the petite redhead walking out into the street and making eye contact with Dean as she headed over to the pair. Standing up to his full hight his eyes drifting from the girl to his brother. “Panic attack,” he muttered in a harsh whisper.

Sam tilted his head slightly, his brow scrunching in confusion. Opening his mouth to ask the obvious question that was written all over his face. But his jaw clamped shut and eyes widened with instant realisation as Belle drew closer. Cover story.

“You boys ok?” she asked, her small frame sidling up beside Dean. A glass of water clutched to her midsection. “You don’t need me to call a doctor, do you?”

“No, no. He gets like this sometimes.” Dean said with a forcefully cheery tone.

“I brought you some water-” handing Sam the glass he accepted it with a small thanks, she dug around in her cardigan pocket, also handing him a small packet of tissues. “-and for your nose bleed.”

She was young, pretty, but her style was kind of dowdy. But she was giving off a cute little librarian vibe. Dean getting the sense she would much prefer to be buried behind a stack of books than in some dusty old shop. “You boys are looking for someone?” She asked directing the question to Dean, her arms wrapping around herself in a limp self-hug. Dean was taken aback by her striking blue eyes. Even though he could see the worry reflected in those ocean blues she never showed in her smile, a gesture that was both comforting and warm.

“A friend,” Dean replied, crossing his arms across his chest as his gaze flitted back to Sam. He had taken a hearty gulp of water, the glass pinched between his knees as he helped himself to a clean tissue. Wiping away the remaining blood from his nose and surreptitiously tucking it away in the closed palm of his wounded fist. “We think he may have wound up here somehow.”

“Well. If he’s here my husband can help.” ‘ _Husband? How did a pretty little thing like her wind up with a guy like that?’_

“Dean, you need to go back in there and talk to him.” Sam perked up, removing the glass from between his knees and sitting up a little straighter. He scrutinised his brother, arms unfolding. “The blade?” he added as if reminding him. Not that Dean had forgotten.

“Blade? What Blade?” Belle asked, her attention flicking between the brothers.

“In your store.” Sam answered, “There’s a weapon we recognise.”

“And you think it has something to do with your friend?”

Rubbing a hand across his slightly stubbled chin Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?!” Sam scoffed “Dean come on! Angel blades are hard enough to come by as it is. Y-you need to ask him.”

“I’m not leaving you out here after that.”

“It’s fine.” Belle offered a friendly smile, tugging her cardigan closed she sat in the space beside Sam. “I can stay and look after him.”

Dean was torn. He cast a disdainful glance over his shoulder to the ominous building. A place that from the outside looked harmless enough, but even he had to admit, the curiosity was getting the better of him. There were almost too many coincidences now for Dean not to ignore. “A’right, fine.” He conceded finally. “Stay here.”

Turning on his heel Dean walked back towards the store, his head racing at a hundred miles an hour with equal parts determination and trepidation. Something in this seemingly mundane looking shopfront sent his brother loopy, _beyond_ loopy. Dean had never seen his brother react to anything like that before. This place was dangerous. Or at least something inside was. What the hell was this place hiding? And while we’re asking questions… How the hell did a town that didn’t exist come into the possession of a weapon like that? Had it been Cas’s? If so, what the hell happened to him. It’s not like Cas would willingly give up his blade. That is… if it was Cas’s, maybe this place is overrun with Angel douchebags too.

Before he even made it to the door, it reopened. The Sheriff strolling out and almost directly into him. Dean grabbing her by the shoulders before the pair collided. “Woah, sorry.” She muttered sheepishly, a small bashful smile tugging at her lips. “Your brother ok?”

“He’s fine,” Dean replied, dropping his hands from her shoulders, and casting a glance back to where Sam and Belle sat. “What did Gold say?”

Emma shrugged. “Says he doesn’t know anything.”

“We’ll see,” Dean muttered, his jaw tightening. He could see the display cabinet through the open doorway, moving Emma aside he walked with purpose towards the display. His reflection in the glass looming over the trinkets inside. The blade-like a homing beacon, calling to him. Like seeing a familiar face in a crowd of uncertainty. Looking from the glass-fronted cabinet to the man behind the counter Mr Gold’s expression was stoic, his eyebrow drawn together as he considered him. “This blade,” Dean asked the point of his index finger against the cold solid surface. “Where did you get it?”

Mr Gold scoffed, another unwelcoming smile wrinkling his face. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean retorted sharply. “Where did you get it?” his finger pressing harder against the glass.

Gold shuffled on the spot, readjusting his weight as a perplexed but smug smirk took over his expression, making the man look even more sinister. “Where I precure my items is none of your business.” He leaned forward; two hands pressed against the counter as he considered the eldest Winchester.

“It’s my business when the last person who held it was my friend,” Dean replied through gritted teeth. His superior dementor really starting to grate on him.

There was movement behind him as Emma rounded on the case also, out the corner of his eye he watched the sheriff lean in closer as if inspecting the weapon. “Answer his question, Gold.” She muttered looking towards the man as she came to stand beside Dean in comradery.

Mr Gold stood to attention, with a flick of his wrist and a poof of grey smoke, the blade was in his grasp. Doing a double-take Dean looked to his left, the shelf that once housed the angel blade was now empty. _Witch_. Instinctively Dean reached for his gun. Tucked away, as it always was, into the waistband of his jeans. But a hand on his arm halted him, looking from the slender feminine digits that gripped his bicep up the leather-clad arm to the stern uneasy expression of the sheriff as she silently shook her head. Both sets of eyes turned to Gold as he studied the weapon in his hand, turning it while examining the metal seemingly unaware of Dean’s reaction.

“I must say, the craftsmanship is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Truly exquisite.” Pressing the pointed tip to the soft pad of his index finger he pressed lightly against his flesh, drawing a speck of blood almost instantly. Wiping away the drop of crimson he lay the weapon on the counter in front of him. “If you must know, this particular item was left on our doorstep. Belle was the one who found it one morning while opening the shop.”

“You just _found it_.” Emma replied in disbelief as she and Dean moved slowly towards the counter, “and you didn’t think about telling the police that you just _found_ a weapon?”

“We get anonymous donations to the cause all the time Miss Swan. There was no blood on the item, nor any fingerprints, so I didn’t want to waste police time. And besides, at the time, you had more… _pressing_ matters to attend to.” Dean’s focus lay on the blade as the conversation carried on around him. The light gleaming from the weapon, a few fine scratches dinged down the hilt indicated that the weapon was well used. A scuff mark, where Dean imagined the blade hitting a concrete floor before sliding across it. The overwhelming realisation that this blade couldn’t be here by coincidence rattled Dean to his core. His hand extended to reach it as a cloud of grey smoke shrouded the blade, making it disappear from the counter. It was back in Gold’s hand.

Dean stood rigid, every single one of his muscles coiled and ready to strike. “Gimmie the blade,” he muttered gravely.

“I’m not sure how you do things from where you’re from Dearie, but here we exchange goods and services for _money._ ”

“I’ll make it plain and simple.” Dean countered, his forehead aching with the sharp scowl he was giving. “You can either give it to me, or I’ll take it from you. Your call.”

“Sheriff I’d like to press charges for harassment.” Mr Gold said, his attention turning to Emma with a bemused smirk.

“You don’t even know what it is!” Dean bit back, his molars grinding together as he seethed.

“Really? Well, why don’t you enlighten me.”

“It’s an angel blade. A powerful weapon. It’s the only weapon that can kill both an Angel and a Demon.” Dean was honestly expecting to get the whole _“Angels aren’t real”_ speech, but Mr Gold just looked at him. His expression indifferent.

He turned the weapon in his hand once again, examining it as he let go a slow and elongated breath. “Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you.” He said quietly as he replaced the weapon on the counter. “I will give you this blade, free of charge, but you will owe me a favour in return.”

“Don’t do it,” Emma muttered behind him loud enough for everyone to hear, Dean casting her a curious side glance.

“And…” Gold said a little louder, drawing Dean’s attention back to him. A small smile creasing across his weathered face. Seemingly unabashed to the Sheriff’s remark. “I’ll throw in a locator spell. If this does belong to your friend, it should lead you right to him.”

“Deal.”

That sinister smile grew wider across his face as he extended his hand for a deal binding handshake. Dean grasped his cold hand and shook, never breaking his eye contact with the man. There was a twinkle of something in his cold stare before he let go. “Now, let’s see about that locator spell.”

Gold crouched down, opening cabinets beneath the counter. Bottles clinked together as his small search came to a swift end. As he rose to full height once more Dean noticed the small glass bottle in his hand, green silver liquid swirling inside. Un-corking the vial he let three small droplets fall from the neck of the bottle onto the tip of the blade. Re-corking the vial Gold returned the bottle to the cabinet. For a long while nothing happened, Dean starting to think that maybe he was a con artist after all. But a distinct humming sound appeared to rumble in his ears. A buzz that was seemingly coming from the blade in front of them, like the thing was vibrating on the counter. The sound growing louder and increasing in pitch, while simultaneously the blade started to glow an intense blue, white. Gaining more power as it grew brighter and brighter, to a level where it was almost impossible to look at. A piercing ring threatened his hearing, Dean covering his ears as the familiar sound reverberated around the shop. Glass behind him shattering as the sound grew louder and louder. And then, silence. The glow died down.

“The Hell was that?!” Emma panted, slowly uncovering her ears as her wide stare darted around the disarray of the shop. The display cabinets lay in shattered remains, shards of glass lay across the hardwood floor like a war zone. Shop windows blown out, light bulbs overhead disintegrated and casting sparks.

Gold frowned in a tight scowl at the blade, a serious expression that concerned Dean. “I’m not sure.” He murmured, with a wave of his hand there and the sound of splintering glass everything that had been destroyed was fixed in an instant. “I’ve never seen it react like that before.” His hand hovered owner the blade as it lay motionless. “The energy coming from it is…”

“So, it didn’t work?” Dean asked.

“Oh, it worked.” Gold confirmed, looking towards him. “It would not have had any reaction at all if the spell failed. But It would seem this friend of yours doesn’t want to be found. It was as if my magic was fighting against another. Something that was put up to shield them.”

“A spell?” Emma asked.

“Possibly. Hard to say. If this blade does belong to your friend, I would hazard a guess that they are here in town. But as to where… I’m afraid, that I can’t help you with.”

…::::::…::::::…::::::…::::::…

Regina had meant to go straight to City hall that morning. She had a pile of paperwork on her desk that she needed to go through before the end of the day. But since she was spending the evening with her son… She watched her son in the rear-view mirror, Henry waved goodbye to her standing at the school gates and she smiled. No, this will need to be done before the end of the day. She really wasn’t a fan of going off her routine schedule, but it was what needed to be done.

The route she took to City hall was the same as always, to any bystanders walking past they would just see the mayor on her way to work. However, when she reached the familiar intersection, instead of driving straight ahead, she took a right.

She pulled into her usual spot at Storybook General, it was a little away from the regular visitation parking in front of the welcoming hospital entrance. Her spot was at the back of the building, a parking spot that only she was privy to. She had to be mindful, normally this procedure would be made under the cloak of nightfall, she would have to be extra careful not to be seen. Thankfully, the back of the hospital was mostly deserted. Large industrial dumpsters sat regimented along the back of the hospital, perfectly shielding one of the many fire exits of the building.

She walked swiftly towards the door. Punching in her key code on the numeral pad beside the entrance, the pad beeped once granting her access. The stairwell was well lit, the grey concrete walls and black metal handrails gave the place a real drab industrial feel. Her heels clicking against the concrete floor as she descended the stairs to the basement, feeling the atmosphere shift dramatically around her. Regina did not like the basement. Contrary to popular belief, she in fact despised down here. There was a horrid gloomy, melancholy air about the place that always made her feel uneasy. She reached the bottom of the stairwell and entered another pin code to enter the psychiatric ward.

Nurse Ratched was never one for warm greetings, but Regina’s surprise early arrival at least warranted a raised suspicious eyebrow. Her dreary old fashioned nurses’ uniform and constant disgruntled expression made her seem much older than she possibly was. She was seated, as she always was, behind her desk. “Your early today,” she commented flatly, her attention returning to the computer screen in front of her, keyboard keys clicking away as she typed. “Haven’t even taken him his breakfast yet.”

Beside her sat the familiar stacked tray trolly, several beige trays slotted into their holders ready to dish out to the patients that resided down here. “May I?” Regina asked with a light airiness and a small smile. The nurse waved a nonchalant hand towards the tray as she continued to work which Regina took as a ‘go ahead.’ In a different time, a different land, Regina would have had her beheaded for such disrespect, but she had grown accustom to Nurse Ratchet’s frosty exposition.

Sliding the top tray out of its holder she turned briskly and headed down the long corridor. Her heels clacked against the solid concrete floor, the sound reverberating off the concrete walls. Solid metal doors harbouring cells passed her on each side, she knew most of them were empty, however, a few were inhabited. Occasional moans or shouts could be heard from the inhabited cells. The Mayor had very little to do with them, in fact, she was quite content in never knowing who lived in the other rooms. There was only one person she was here to deal with, and he, by all accounts, seemed completely harmless.

She slowed her pace as she reached room 11. Not needing to open the viewing flap, she could almost envision exactly what the occupant was doing. Turning the lock and pulling open the door she stepped inside.

The occupant was dressed in white hospital scrubs and was sitting where he always did. Balled up on his bed, knees brought up tightly against his chest and pressed close as he could to the small, grated hatch that was the only window in the cell. The scruff of dark brunette hair gave him that ‘I woke up like this’ look, but according to the Nurse, the man never slept. It also appeared he never ate. Last night’s offering of mac and cheese and a chocolate pudding cup left untouched on the small table to the side of her. Swapping out the lumpy yellow goop for the even less exciting option of cold toast and a banana.

“Still on your hunger strike I see,” Regina stated.

“I’m not hungry.” His gruff timbre voice declared, his interest still fixed to the window.

“You never are. But it’s still a courtesy to feed you.”

His attention drew from the outside to her. Eyes, as blue as the mid-morning sky flicked from the tray that sat on the table up towards her. His rugged rounded features giving the same stoic expression he always gave. The slight wrinkle in his forehead as he scowled, head tilting to the left minutely. His once 5’oclock shadow was now looking much thicker and unkempt, while his white scrubs looked incredibly pristine like they had been freshly laundered that morning.

“It would be more of a courtesy if you let me go.” He said unabashed. “I still don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Because you were found wandering naked in the forest.” Regina answered, “And I’m led to believe you’re dangerous.” Her gaze drifted around the small cell. Unlike the rest of the dull dreary concreted blocked rooms, this one had been semi ‘decorated.’ Blood red markings covered every wall of the inside of the cell. Crests, sigils and shapes that Regina had never seen before, however, she was assured by the nurse that they were for the town’s protection. But the mayor had yet to see what they were being protected from. The man that sat before her looked like no threat that she couldn’t handle.

The man scoffed shaking his head. “If I’m so dangerous why are you standing there?”

It was a fair question, and honestly, Regina didn’t know how to answer. She never really saw this man as any kind of threat. Only hearing what the other nurses and doctors had told her. How he possessed these ungodly powers. Powers that could easily rival hers and Golds combined. Powers that could destroy everything she had created.

“All I want is your name.” She repeated as she did every day. The same questions over and over again.

“I don’t know who I am.” The man sighed loudly, leaning back to rest his head against the solid wall behind him. Clearly getting sick of the same Q-and-A too. “I don’t know how I got here; I don’t know where I came from-”

“Do we have to go through this charade every day?”

“-I don’t know why I’m not eating or sleeping.” He continued, ignoring her, “and I’m certainly not dangerous… at least… I don’t think I am.” At this he sat up, his legs withdrawing from his chest to plant on the solid floor beside his bed. “I don’t know anything. All I remember is waking up in the woods and your men dragging me here.” He gestured with his hand, before letting it fall into his lap. “I haven’t done anything to offend, nor hurt anyone so please…” his wide eyes lifting to meet hers. She was clearly going soft in her old age because she felt her cold blackened heart clench at the sorrow in his eyes. “I don’t understand why I’m locked away down here.”

“Because you’re needed.” She replied with a sigh trying to look anywhere but at his face. “And until you can tell me who you are princess, I can’t let you go.” The man hung his head in defeat, yielding to his fate of another 24 hours of solitary confinement. Emma wasn’t the only one with a _‘superpower’_ to know when people were lying. It didn’t take a saviour to see that this man really was telling the truth, he didn’t know anything. Clearly, the doctor’s amnesia treatment wasn’t working, and they were slowly starting to run out of options. “Enjoy your breakfast.” She said coldly before turning out the cell and locking the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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